


The Five Times that Greg made Breakfast

by Ayla221bee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5+1 Things, Breakfast in Bed, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayla221bee/pseuds/Ayla221bee
Summary: ...and the one time that Mycroft did.The five breakfasts throughout Greg and Mycroft's relationship from just being friends to a lot more...Based on the prompt from Paia_Loves_Pie from the Just Mystradethoughts Plot Bunny prompt of 'Greg makes his loves breakfast in the morning.'
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 58
Kudos: 304
Collections: JustMystradeThoughts Plot Bunny Adoptions





	1. Coffee

  1. Coffee



Greg opened his eyes to an unfamiliar living room and found himself on a sofa that was far more comfortable than his own. He could hardly remember the evening before other than the fact that he had dinner with Mycroft and there was alcohol involved. 

Lots of scotch if Greg could remember correctly. It was the only drink other than posh wines that he drank when he was with Mycroft. He had bought Mycroft a pint one time in Dartmoor after the case had been wrapped up and Mycroft had ‘happened to be in the area,’ and upon receiving the pint, Mycroft wrinkled his nose in disgust and ordered a bottle of wine with an eyewatering price. 

Greg kicked off the duvet that was draped over him and stretched out on the plush sofa, it was a world’s difference from the one in his own flat and it didn’t have a spring that threatened to break away from the thinning material. 

He soon realised that he was in Mycroft’s livingroom. It didn’t take his abilities as a Detective Inspector to figure that out as he caught a glimpse of several family photos. A Christmas photo of some sort with a younger Sherlock and Mycroft with faces as if they had sucked a lemon and wearing matching horribly knitted jumpers. A picture of a somewhat smug and proud looking Mycroft in a university gown and bearing a certificate with his parents was placed on the fireplace. 

Greg found himself smiling to himself, he never expected that Mycroft would be sentimental enough to keep family pictures in his home. 

Greg slipped off the sofa and quietly make his way to the kitchen. He started to search for cupboards and the fridge for anything that he could use to make breakfast. 

  
Mycroft’s cupboards were empty apart from several mugs, biscuits, and some posh coffees and loose leaf tea. His fridge wasn’t much better and there were more leaflets and menus for takeaway than actual food in the fridge. There was a half a pint of milk that smelt somewhat off, a bottle of soy sauce, and packets of tomato and barbecue sauce from a takeaway. The freezer had several tubs of expensive ice cream stashed away.

Greg had decided that it was the most depressing fridge, kitchen actually, that he had seen in his life. He decided that he would have to buy at least a loaf of bread to thank Mycroft for putting him up for the night. 

Mycroft walked into the kitchen in his dressing gown and his hair slightly ruffled as Greg poured out two mugs of coffee from the cafetiere. He gave Greg a tired smile as a large mug of black coffee was handed to him.    
  


Greg suddenly had become very aware of the fact that it was the most undressed that he had seen Mycroft Holmes. Mycroft was usually in a three-piece suit at all times, occasionally, he would be in his shirtsleeves and tie undone when they lazed around on the sofa after a few glasses of wine or scotch after dinner. 

There was something almost endearing about seeing Mycroft in his pyjamas and dressing gown. It was somewhat intimate seeing him in a state like this. Greg knew that he would have been one of the few people who saw that sight. It almost felt as if Mycroft trusted him enough to allow him to see him in such a state of undress. He had always consdierd Mycroft to be a friend, he didn’t think that Mycroft thought of him in the same way. It made Greg wonder if Mycroft possibly thought of him in a similar manner. 

The thought of Mycroft considering him to be his friend warmed Greg’s heart more than it should have done. He forced himself to stop staring and started to look for the sugar bowl. 

He noticed that Mycroft was looking at him with an expression of curiosity on his ruffled features. He didn’t say anything for several long moments and seemed awfully intrigued by him. Greg wasn’t too sure if he liked it or not. 

“How are you this morning?” Mycroft asked tentatively. 

“I’m fine,” Greg said with a shrug. “Hungover.”

Mycroft stirred his coffee, the only noise in the kitchen was the teaspoon occasionally clattering against the side of the mug. “There is paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet if you need some,” Mycroft said. 

Mycroft opened up his mouth to say something and closed it again, unsure if he was going to speak. He seemed to be debating with himself about if he was going to say something or not and what words he was going to use. Greg could practically see the cogs turn in his head. 

He had the feeling that Mycroft would have wanted to talk about last night. Greg couldn’t blame him, especially with how guilty he looked throughout dinner and how many times he had suggested that they leave.

“Dinner was great last night,” Greg forced himself to say. “That seabass that I had was wonderful. The wine was....good.”

Mycroft placed his mug down on the table and steepled his hands under his chin. “I did offer for us to go somewhere else countless times. I would have gone to a kebab shop if you wanted to go to one. I have little idea why or how you managed to sit through dinner.”

Greg had the feeling that Mycroft had never eaten a kebab in his life and Greg could not picture him in a kebab shop for the life of him. It was easier to conjure up the image of Mycroft with a flying umbrella than eating a kebab.

“The wine helped a good bit,” Greg said with a shrug. “The scotch we had after helped as well. I do apologise for getting drunk.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow and the top of his lip curled upwards. “I’m surprised that your reaction to your ex-wife getting engaged was to have most of a bottle of wine. I was fully expecting something more dramatic.”   
  


“What did you expect me to do? Start sobbing over the breadbasket?” Greg snorted. “Chuck myself into the Thames after pudding?”

“I do wish that we did leave,” Mycroft said quietly. “Or at least moved to another table. I can only imagine how difficult was to see.”

“She would have noticed if we did suddenly leave,” Greg said with a sigh. “It’s not very mature to run away when we see certain people. She’s moved on and so have I.”

Mycroft reached over the table and placed a hand on his wrist and gave it a comforting squeeze. He looked rather uncertain when doing it, almost as if he was not sure if it was appropriate to do so or not. 

“Your fridge is absolutely depressing,” Greg said in the attempt to change the subject. “This is the saddest kitchen that I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“What on earth do you mean?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Greg leaned back on his chair and gestured to the wall. “First of all, that wallpaper is just horrid and it makes the place look like a bloody dungeon.”

“What if I like the wallpaper?” Mycroft challenged.

“Then I’m convinced that you’ve been replaced by an alien or a cyborg with poor taste, mate,” Greg chuckled. 

Mycroft laughed quietly and Greg felt rather pleased with himself. It was probably illegal somewhere to laugh before eight in the morning. Greg couldn’t remember even being somewhat cheerful during the morning, normally he wasn’t even sociable until he had three coffees in him. 

“I would have made you breakfast if you had food in your kitchen,” Greg said.

“Why would you want to do that?” Mycroft asked. 

“I always do when I’ve spent the night with someone,” Greg shrugged. “You did allow me to sleep on your sofa...I know that I was a proper mess last night.”

Mycroft shook his head. “It was understandable that you were upset. I was just so surprised that you even managed to speak to Karen and wish her the best when you left. I would act terribly if I was in your situation.”

“Did you have anyone like that in your life, Mycroft? “Greg asked. “It was awful enough seeing Karen with someone else at times. I doubt that anyone would be so stupid to let you go.”

Mycroft hesitated for a moment and quickly shook his head. The pause felt a bit too long and Greg knew that there was someone at one point. He seemed fascinated with the table cloth and Mycroft seemed to be counting the individual threads. 

“Do you eat when you are at home?” Greg asked after several long minutes. “You have a bottle of soy sauce and biscuits. I can’t imagine that you pop to Tesco after work.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I hardly have the time to go shop-”

Greg cut him off before he finished. “I’m wrong about Tesco, it is probably M&S and Waitrose you would go to.”

He pulled out his phone and tried to find the nearest posh supermarket was. “What do you fancy for breakfast? I’ll get some proper food for you.” 

Mycroft looked at him as if he had grown a second head. “You do not need to do this.” 

“I’m convinced that you are going to starve to death in this dungeon of yours,” Greg replied. “It is the least that I can do. It’s what friends do for another.”

“Let me get my-”

“Don’t do anything of the sort,” Greg said. “We are mates and you were kind enough to put me up for the night after dinner...I’m so sorry for being rather drunk. Making breakfast and getting a few bits and pieces is the least I can do.” 

He started to look for his wallet in Mycroft’s dungeon-like kitchen and found it in the empty fruit bowl, “What are you waiting for breakfast?” 

“Coffee is just fine,” Mycroft said. “I shouldn’t indulge.”

  
“I’ll go to that bakery that you like,” Greg replied. “I’m needing something indulgent to recover from last night. It’s the weekend as well.”

Mycroft put on a long-suffering sigh and wrapped his dressing gown around himself tightly. “Perhaps one of those almond croissants, you are twisting my arm.”

Greg grinned. “Almond croissants and some proper food for your house. There is something that I found funny.”   
  


Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “What did you find funny?”

“The fact that you have this fancy job where you control the country,” Greg said as he cleaned out the cafetiere, “you are this posh bloke and I just find it funny that you have an ice cream ad biscuit stash. No one would have even thought about it.” 

Greg didn’t need to look around his shoulder to know that Mycroft’s ears had gone pink. 

“I won’t say anything,” Greg chuckled. “We are friends, there is no need to worry about your secret being revealed to the world. You might need to buy my silence with some of that posh salted caramel and honeycomb ice cream though.” 


	2. Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg makes pancakes for breakfast after spending the night in Mycroft's bed.

2\. Pancakes and berry coulis.

It was the soft rustle of the sheets and the shift in the bed that roused Greg out of sleep. He had been resting his head on something warm and soft before it had been replaced with pillows that were softer and plusher than his own. 

It was with great reluctance that Greg opened up his eyes, he wanted nothing more than five more minutes in the realm of sleep. He pulled the duvet over his head and groaned once he realised that he was not in his own bed and that he had potentially made a huge mistake. He did not even have the excuse of being drunk to even somewhat justify what happened.

“Morning,” Greg offered, his voice somewhat muffled from the duvet. 

“Good morning,” Mycroft replied from the other side of the bed, dressed in a tartan dressing gown that clashed somewhat with his pyjamas. “ How are you this morning?”

Greg shifted in the bed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I’m fine,” he offered. “How are you?”

“I think that it will rain today,” Mycroft offered somewhat awkwardly. “Did you sleep...alright?”

Greg could practically see the elephant walk into the room and settle itself by the wardrobe. Mycroft was acting far too professional for the situation than he should have been. He stood awkwardly by the bed and rambled on about the postal service, the history of stamps and how he used to collect them.

Greg let him ramble on for ten minutes, it was much preferable to the heavy and uncomfortable silence that pressed down in them in the occasional lull of Mycroft’s monologue about the types of stamps. He hardly had anything to contribute to this ungodly hour of the morning without several coffees in his system. 

Greg forced himself out of bed and accepted the blue dressing gown that Mycroft had handed to him from the wardrobe. He forced himself to be more cheerful than he felt and he tried to ignore the pressing feeling that the two of them had made a massive mistake last night. 

“Why don’t I go and make us some breakfast?” Greg offered, wrapping the dressing gown tightly around his middle. “Fancy anything in particular?”

Mycroft made a non-committal noise. “Do you have food in your dungeon of a kitchen? More than just biscuits?”

Mycroft snorted and folded his arms across his chest. “I have more than biscuits, you did bring flour and milk when you came over last night. You were insistent on buying food.”

“It was the least that I could do,” Greg shrugged. “You are putting me up for a few days while my flat gets sorted out.”

“My brother did put one of those ghastly experiments of his in your home. I doubt that would ever apologise for it,” Mycroft sighed. “The smell was horrid enough to potentially end relations between my brother and Scotland Yard, I cannot let that happen.”

The corner of Greg’s mouth involuntarily twitched upwards and he let out a soft chuckle. “I can assure you that your brother has done worst things and I am still on good terms with him,” he said. “You kidnapped me and interrogated me in a warehouse and now we are good mates.”

Mycroft gave him a tight smile that did not reach his eyes. “Do you mind if I use the shower?” he asked even though he was in his own home. 

“I’ll make breakfast, I’m sure that I can find something to make from what I put in the dungeon last night,” Greg said. “Sure that there isn’t anything you fancy?”

“I normally just have tea…” Mycroft murmured. 

Greg sighed and wished that things were not suddenly so awkward between them. Mycroft could hardly look at him without a somewhat guilty and sheepish expression on his face. Greg wondered if they had ruined thier friendship from a silly mistake, mates didn’t usually sleep in the same bed and kiss another. 

“I’ll go and make breakfast then,” Greg said, somewhat stunted. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” 

Mycroft nodded and made his way to en-suit, the silence that followed closing door was deafening. Greg stood in the room for a moment until he heard the shower run and glared at the imaginary elephant that watched him in the corner of the room. 

He walked into Mycroft’s guest bedroom that he was meant to have slept in last night and dressed before he made his way into Mycroft’s dungeonesque kitchen. 

He cringed at the evidence of the night before, the half-finished Thai take away, the wine glasses, and the Hot Fuzz DVD that was lying on the living room table. The crime scene of a potentially ruined friendship. 

Greg was somewhat surprised that Mycroft had had kitchen equipment other than his depressing fridge, a kettle, and a cupboard full of mugs. He had not expected to see any pots and pans in the cupboard, but he knew that they were rarely used. 

He opened up the recently filled cupboards and pulled out the bag of flour. He found a bag of frozen berries that were stashed in the back of the freezer. 

Pancakes seemed like a suitable breakfast for a morning such as this. Greg rarely bothered with breakfast himself. He tended to have coffee and doughnuts in the office and he hardly ate anything fancier than bacon sandwiches on his days off. He felt the need to make something more inspiring for breakfast, he was a guest and pancakes would hopefully act as an olive branch. 

He sighed as flour covered his old The Clash shirt from a concert from years ago when he poured it into a bowl. He could never cook or bake without getting covered in flour, it seemed near impossible for him to do so, even when he wore an apron. 

He could hear the shower running and Greg thought that he could hear Mycroft singing quietly to himself. He wondered if Mycroft would still be alright with him staying over for a few days or if he should get a hotel to save any awkwardness and to help spare their friendship. 

He had a thing for Mycroft for years but behaved himself, he knew that Mycroft would never be interested in anything. He had been convinced that Mycroft was married for the first two years that they had known another with the ring that he wore and he kept things professional. 

He had been pleasantly surprised when Mycroft revealed that his ring was to stop dignitaries and assistants from trying to flirt with him and to save himself and them embarrassment in the workplace. He had been somewhat more hopeful about something happening between himself and Mycroft after that. 

Greg had been somewhat hopeful about his chances with Mycroft but didn’t force anything to happen. He had tried to flirt countless times and he had asked Mycroft out, Mycroft never seemed to pick up on his signs or he acted purposely oblivious to his flirtations. 

Greg had been fine with that, he was happy just being friends even if he had the feeling that there was something...more between them. 

What happened last night was evidence of Greg’s belief. 

He heard the shower switch off and he made a large mug of tea and left it on the kitchen table as a peace offering for Mycroft. 

“What are you making?” Mycroft asked once he made his way into the kitchen and settled into the table. He was dressed more casually than usual, a nice shirt and jumper on instead of his usual attire of a three-piece suit. He had nowhere to be today, he had a day off from the office and they had been talking about going out for lunch today. 

“It’s just some pancakes,” Greg said, flipping a pancake on the pan. “I’ve got a berry coulis on the go as well.” 

“I’m sure that they will be scrumptious,” Mycroft murmured with a small smile. “I am always impressed with your cooking.”

Greg pulled out a tea towel to wipe his hands and smiled to himself as he found several bars of expensive chocolate hidden in the drawer. “I rarely get the time to cook so I like to impress when I do,” he said. “ Besides, someone needs to get a good home-cooked meal or two in you. You would live on tea if you could.” 

He could practically hear the gears in Mycroft’s head turn, probably thinking about what happened the night before. He wondered if Mycroft regretted it, it was difficult to read his expression. 

As much as Greg wanted to talk about it, he knew that Mycroft would be reluctant to do it. He knew that Mycroft was far too _British to_ talk about things especially when it dealt with feelings. He knew that Mycroft had about two hundred years of British emotional repression in him. 

He placed the plate of pancakes in front of Mycroft and smiled when Mycroft practically covered them in the sauce. As much as he wanted to tease him for his sweet tooth, Greg could not bring himself to do so. 

“Last night…” Greg said, trying to address the ever-growing elephant in the room. 

He wanted to ignore it but he knew that it would be impossible to do so. It would make their friendship awkward and stunted and it would be impossible to go around blissfully ignoring it without tripping up on the trunk. 

“We do not need to talk about it,” Mycroft briskly replied, cutting his pancakes into small pieces. “It was a mistake.”

Greg sighed and gripped the spatula with more force than needed as if it was the only thing that kept him present. “It wasn’t a mistake for me. Was it a mistake for you?”

Mycroft took a long minute to reply, he deliberately took a mouthful of pancake to give him more time to gather his thoughts. “I am not sure...”

“I’m fine with us just being friends,” Greg said. “ I am not wanting things to be awkward between us...You are my best mate.” 

“You are my closest friend,” Mycroft replied firmly.

“What do you want to do?” Greg asked.

“I am not sure...”

“I am more than happy to just be friends,” Greg said with a reassuring smile. “I would hate to lose you.”

Mycroft did not say anything for a very long time. Greg could practically hear the individual drops of rain hitting the kitchen window and each thought going through Mycroft’s head.

“What if... I want to be more than just friends?” Mycroft finally managed to utter out, his voice hardly above a whisper. 

Greg opened up his mouth to reply but no words came out as he realised that his pancake starting to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the breakfast suggestions, more would be amazing as I am not a breakfast person myself and I just tend to drink coffee. 
> 
> Also thank you for reading!


	3. Scones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg makes Scones for breakfast and Mycroft gets his best dressing gown covered in flour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was based on the prompt given to me by eMilyJones and Custardcrush who seconded the prompt.

3\. Scones

The sight shouldn’t have been appealing as it was, there was flour over the marble countertops and it was all over the floor. He had just had the floor moped in preparation for Greg’s visit and it would be several more days until he could get the cleaner around.

Despite the growing concerns about the state of his floor and his countertops, Mycroft could not keep his eyes off the sight of Greg in an apron and kneading dough with his hands. His arms were covered in flour and there was a sprinkle of it on his face as he sang quietly along to the radio. The shirt that he wore fitted close and gave Mycroft a wonderful view of his arms as he worked the dough with his hands. 

There was hardly anything in the world more erotic. He congratulated himself for his wonderful idea of getting himself a partner who was willing to cook and bake for him. It was possibly one of his most splendid ideas.

He hardly could not understand why he had been wary about starting a relationship with Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft never thought that he would even want a relationship with someone in the first place. He had experimented with them when he was in university but they were disastrous and family responsibilities had weighed him down. 

For so many years Mycroft believed that relationships were not meant for him and that he could be perfectly happy on his own. He had changed his opinion and allowed himself to fancy someone for the first time since he was twenty-one once had discovered that Greg could bake. 

  
Admittedly, he had fancied Greg terribly for years, If he had to be perfectly honest, he had fancied him ever since their first meeting in the warehouse, but upon acquiring the knowledge that he could bake, it had turned Greg into a marble statue of a man and Mycroft longed dearly for him for two years. 

  
He had never told Greg this knowledge, it was far too embarrassing to admit. 

  
  


It was a slice of Victoria sponge cake that swept Mycroft off his feet. He had only meant to be in Scotland Yard for five minutes to pay Greg a small social visit and drop off some files when he had been offered a slice of cake. It was the most scrumptious thing that he had ever had in his life, the conversation was even better and he ended up staying in the Scotland Yard for almost two hours. 

Mycroft stood in the kitchen and appreciated the sight for several long minutes. He had never thought that Gregory Lestrade in an apron and covered in flour could be the definition of sex. 

The way that Greg had kneaded in the dough and used a rolling pin was so tender yet firm, almost like how he had touched him the evening before. Mycroft wanted nothing more than for Greg’s hands to be all over him like that. 

“What are you thinking about?” Greg asked with a grin once he had noticed him. 

“I was only wanting to know what you were making,” Mycroft fibbed. The thoughts that ran through his head were probably illegal to have at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning. “You have turned my kitchen into a right state.”

Greg huffed out a laugh and deliberately pushed a pile of flour on the floor. He wiped his hand across his face and smeared more flour across his cheek before he washed his hands and started to rake through the drawers. “Do you have a biscuit cutter?”

“Why would I have a biscuit cutter?” Mycroft asked. 

“It was a stupid thought of mine, you didn’t have food in your kitchen before I started to put it in, stupid of me to think that you’d have a biscuit cutter.” Greg raked around in the drawer for a moment before he went to the fridge and took out a can of beer and started to use it to cut out circles in the dough. 

“I never did expect that I would have someone who is insistent on making me breakfast,” Mycroft said. “I will make sure that I will equip my kitchen for your baking needs.” 

He wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist and pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder. He took great pleasure in watching Greg place the small circles of dough on a baking tray. His hands gently peeled the circles of dough from the counter and placed them onto the tray. 

Those flour-covered hands and his muscles drove him wild. The thoughts that ran through his head, Mycroft found himself not caring if he got covered in flour or the kitchen turned into a right mess. 

“I thought that you needed to keep your energy up after last night,” Greg said, the smirk was evident in his voice. “You are in a good mood this morning, I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m making scones.”

He let out a content sigh that had the air of a giggle contained within it in response to the kisses that Mycroft scattered on him. Mycroft ran his hands across his arms, feeling his muscles. They were one of Mycroft’s favourite parts of Greg’s body, he always felt so safe, protected, even loved when he was wrapped up in those arms. 

For years Mycroft thought that he did not like hugs and had avoided them for years, he had soon discovered that he liked them very much, and had been hugging the wrong people for many years. 

“There is something about you making scones that is rather appealing,” Mycroft murmured as he pressed kisses on Greg’s neck. “You are spoiling me with this baking. It is going to be devastating on my waistline.” 

Greg placed the last bit of dough on the baking tray, wrapped his arms around his waist, flipped him over and kissed him. Mycroft let out a surprised squeak as he was pressed into the counter and found himself unable to care when he had bits of dough and flour on his dressing gown. 

  
“You don't need to worry about the way you look,” Greg purred into his ear, scattering kisses along with his freckles. “You already know that I fancy to pieces, I made it rather clear last night.” 

“And the night before,” Mycroft beamed, “and the night before that. You do keep me fed and watered.” 

Greg’s hands wandered teasingly across his frame and tugged at the tie of the dressing gown. “Is that the only reason you keep me around, darling?” He asked. 

“I keep you around for a few more reasons than that,” Mycroft smiled. “I do hope that I could keep you around for a bit longer. I might even get a biscuit cutter or two if it keeps you around for a bit longer, even if I do have to get new suits.” 

Greg kissed him teasingly before he pulled away to put the scones in the oven. “There is nothing that would keep me away from you.”

Greg pulled off the oven gloves and had a wicked grin on his face. He set the oven timer and pressed him against the counter. His fingers teased he dressing gown open and rested on Mycroft’s hips, running against the soft fabric of the old worn pyjama bottoms that Mycroft had somehow acquired from him. 

  
Mycroft practically melted and kissed him. He had never considered himself to be much of a sexual being before, he had been so glad to be proven wrong and had enjoyed experimenting with that aspect of his relationship with Greg with great zeal. 

“When I’m done with you,” Greg purred. “You can have a scone or two, you’ll be needing to keep your strength up with what I’ve got planned today.” 

“Won’t you worry about the scones burning,” Mycroft murmured, his hands tugged at the apron.

Greg checked the timer with a grin. “We’ve got eighteen minutes left,” he grinned. “ I think that we will have plenty of time.”

Mycroft did not complain when he ended up pressed against the messy kitchen counter and got his best silk dressing gown covered in flour.

It was at that moment Mycroft congratulated himself once more for his marvelous decision to get himself involved romantically with Gregory Lestrade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who has liked this and suggested breakfasts! There has been so many wonderful ideas that I want to write more than five breakfasts! 
> 
> Give me your suggestions for breakfasts!


	4. Bacon Sandwhiches

4\. Bacon Sandwhiches

Mycroft tried his best not to groan at the large pile of files that Anthea had placed on his desk. He was in a foul mood after having to endure an incredibly droll meeting with the Prime Minister, that took three hours to resolve a matter that should have been done in ten minutes. His temper had grown even worse after attempting to deal with Brexit negotiations in a four-hour conference. 

He had been in a rather foul mood ever since he had been called to work that morning. He had been in the middle of having breakfast, the most delightful French toast that Greg had made for him and brought to his bed before he had been so rudely interrupted on his weekend. He had made it perfectly clear that he was not to be bothered on weekends, especially on a Sunday.

He had grown ever so fond of weekends recently.

Greg had been thankfully understanding about the matter and his work schedule. It was not the first time that he had been called into the office during the weekend or during a quiet evening in with Greg and it would not be the last. Greg had been occasionally called into work in the middle off the night or when they were out for dinner. The two of them had to cancel plans with another due to work several times in the course of their relationship. It was rather refreshing to be with someone who understood the nature of his work, it had caused a lot of disagreements with people in the past. 

After successfully dealing with the situation and helping to prevent potential world war and economic crisis, Mycroft found himself rewarded with an evergrowing mountain of paperwork on his desk that Anthea kept adding to. 

Mycroft smiled politely to Anthea as she placed the files on his desk with an apologetic look on her face. He thanked her quietly and allowed her to go home, he did not allow himself to be rude despite his mood, it was ungentlemanlike.

With a heavy sigh, Mycroft started to make his way through the paperwork that was on his desk. He glanced at the clock when he had noticed that it was two in the morning and pinched the sides of his nose once he had realised that he had made little progress with his paperwork. It felt like an age since he was in bed with Greg and they were having breakfast together. 

Mycroft missed him dearly. It almost felt painful with how much he wished to be home and in bed with Greg again. 

Mycroft had never experienced that feeling before. For a long moment, he wondered if the feeling he experienced was indigestion. He wondered if it symptom a heart attack from the way that the feeling that it gripped around his heart in a vice-like a manner. He had never experienced it before and it concerned him greatly. 

He tried to ignore the feeling that settled in his chest and forced himself to work on the mountain of paperwork. The quicker that he worked through it, the sooner that he would be at home and he could be back in his bed with Greg again. 

He smiled with each text that Greg had sent him, even if some of them had poor grammar and smiley faces. He did not care much for them but found it endearing that Greg used them. 

At six in the morning, Mycroft had managed to work onto the last few piles of paperwork on his desk. The suit jacket and his tie had been discarded long ago and he had broken out the emergency custard creams that he kept in the desk drawer. 

There was a knock on his wooden office door and before he could even allow himself to summon the person in, they had let themselves into his office. The knock seemed only to be done out of habit and just to rouse his attention from the piles of paperwork. 

He knew immediately it was Greg and Mycroft allowed himself to smile once the realisation had washed over him. 

Greg walked over to his desk and placed a kiss on his forehead and a large takeaway coffee next to his laptop. 

Greg made himself comfortable on the plush chair that Mycroft had put in the office for him. He had complained that the old chair was far too uncomfortable for his liking and Mycroft purchased a brand new chair the next morning. Mycroft often felt a twinge of embarrassment when he had looked upon the chair, he had done this gesture for Greg before they were barely friends, he had been smitten with the Detective Inspector for longer than he would care to admit.

“The emergency biscuits are out,” Greg commented, “Must be a difficult time you are having.”

Mycroft sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Brexit,” he said simply. 

Greg nodded in understanding and sighed. “No wonder you’ve been working all day and night,” said Greg. “Did you manage to eat something that was more than tea and custard creams? You hardly got to eat any of the French toast I made before you were out of the door.”

Mycroft did not say anything for a long moment, he believed that Anthea may have dropped off a sandwich around lunchtime the day before. He hardly had time to eat any of it and he did not eat much during lunch meetings, he usually ended up having to speak when he had a mouthful of food in his mouth and never wanted to have the embarrassment of getting spinach between his teeth. He picked up a pile of files that were on top of a very squashed sandwich.

“The answer is no then,” Greg said with a low whistle. “How much work do you have to do before your done? You are going to bed and getting food in you the moment that you are going home.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest and promptly closed it again, he knew that there was little point in arguing and going home sounded like the most delightful prospect. “Could you make me a bacon sandwich once we get home?”

Greg looked at him as if he had been replaced by a cyborg lookalike. “Are you feeling alright?” he asked. “You never agree to go home without protesting and you’ve definitely never asked me for a bacon sandwich before. I thought that you were meant to be on a health kick again. “

“I was until the emergency biscuits were brought out,” Mycroft grumbled. “I cannot resist anything that you make.”

Mycroft closed his desk and gathered up the pile of paperwork that he was working on before. He wanted nothing more than to be home, he briefly considered starting to slow down a bit with his job, or at least have a few more days when he was not in the office. He had always thought the motion was ridiculous but things had changed in his life. He was utterly positive that Anthea would be a suitable replacement when the time arrived. 

“You are going straight to bed when you get in,” Greg said, handing him his jacket. “You can have your bacon sandwich in bed and then you are going to sleep.”

Mycroft smiled at the notion as he slipped on his coat, nothing sounded more wonderful at the moment. He was not as young as he used to be and he had started to enjoy the notion of having a life outside the office recently. 

  
“Nothing sounds more perfect,” Mycroft said with a small smile. 

Greg picked up his briefcase and slung the laptop bag around his shoulder and started to guide him out of the office door. “I am not sure how you are going to cope once my flat is sorted,” he said. “I am not sure who is going to feed and look after you.”

“You can just stay somewhat permanently,” Mycroft said without a moment of hesitation, hardly registering the words that he said. 

There was a surprised expression on Greg’s face. He opened up his mouth and closed it again, a rather fine impersonation of a goldfish if Mycroft had to be perfectly honest. “Are you saying what I think you are saying?” he asked. 

Mycroft swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “If that is...alright with you?” 

“Are you sure that you aren’t just delirious from the lack of sleep?”

Mycroft thought for a long moment, a part of him was fairly certain that it was partly due to exhaustion, but it sounded like a rather marvellous idea the more he thought about it. He did have a much nicer flat after all and Greg was a wonderful cook, it made perfect sense.

Mycroft shook his head. “I’m fairly certain about the matter,” he said. “I do hope that it is alright with you. You do have a few cookie cutters in the kitchen after all. You are practically moved in these days.”

Greg did not say anything for a long moment.

“I’m wanting to change that horrid wallpaper in the kitchen,” he said finally. “I’m not cooking in a dungeon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who has liked this story. I am amazed about how well it has taken off and I'm thankful for all of the breakfast suggestions? I end up feeling hungry after I've read them! 
> 
> Any suggestions for breakfast for the next chapter? I am really not sure what Mycroft is going to make Greg for breakfast just yet...
> 
> Update: I will be taking a week or two off from updating this story due to the loss of a family member. I will get back up updating as soon as possible and I won't keep you waiting for too long, writing this story has been bringing me a lot of joy. :)


	5. French Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg makes French toast for breakfast and Mycroft thinks about the future.

5\. French Toast 

For the first time in his life, Mycroft did not care that his home was in a complete and utter mess. He had been much too thrilled at the prospect of Greg moving in permanently that he found himself unbothered with the growing mountain of cardboard boxes in the hallway or the strong smell of paint that was in the kitchen. 

His home was in complete and utter chaos and Mycroft could not be happier. 

There was something that was somewhat thrilling about having Greg living with him permanently, Mycroft could not place his finger on it. He found himself looking forward to the future for the first time in his life when he normally dreaded it and he was somewhat fearful of it, especially with regards to his brother and the state of the country. 

He was still somewhat fearful about those matters on occasion, of course, but he had his future to look forward to. He had to no longer force himself to believe the lie that he had told himself since he was a teenager; that he was not lonely. 

For one day, Mycroft read all the books and journal articles that he could get access to aid his understanding for his feelings for Gregory Lestrade. He had never experienced anything of the sort before and he had been worried that the vice-like feeling that surrounded his heart after Greg said or did something, in particular, was symptoms of indigestion.

After hours of reading and research, Mycroft had reached the very firm conclusion that he was was in love. He was not too sure when he had managed to have his heart defrosted or how on earth Greg had managed to do it. 

In his day of research, Mycroft also reached a sound conclusion of that he was extremely happy for the first time in his life. He had moments of happiness in his life before Greg, but they were fleeting, often leaving him as soon as they reached him. The feeling of happiness he experienced seemed almost permanent.

Mycroft’s favourite room in his home was his kitchen. He found himself spending the most time in the kitchen out of all the rooms in his flat and he could hardly understand why he avoided it for so long. He had turned his spare room into a home office but he much preferred working in the kitchen especially when Greg was cooking, even if he did get awfully distracted by the sight of Greg in an apron more often than he would care to admit. 

Mycroft was more than happy to get the kitchen renovated if it ensured that Greg would move in with him. He had insisted on painting and decorating the kitchen himself no matter how many times Mycroft had offered to get a contractor in. Mycroft had been more than thrilled to accompany Greg as he looked at paint samples and kitchen equipment. Mycroft loved to watch Greg paint and decorate the kitchen, it had become his favourite sight.

Mycroft also loved how happy Greg acted when he was in the kitchen. He had come to the conclusion one morning that he would have allowed Greg to decorate the kitchen in neon colours and memorabilia of his favourite football team if it made Greg happy. He had also realised that he would happily ride a unicycle to work for the chance that it would make Greg happy. 

“When did you get out of bed?” Greg asked with a yawn as he walked into the kitchen. He stopped for a moment and pressed a kiss to the top of Mycroft’s head before he filled up the kettle. 

Mycroft lifted his head from his laptop screen and wondered when he had last blinked. He had been summoned out of his bed at three in the morning due to a crisis with America. He was unaware of how much time had passed, the hours had melted into one. 

  
“Three o’clock,” Mycroft said. He felt somewhat thankful that he only had to do phone calls that morning instead of video conferencing as he was in his pyjamas, a mismatched outfit of Greg’s worn shirt for _The Clash_ and a tartan dressing gown that he got for Christmas. 

“They work you too hard,” Greg grumbled as he started to make tea. “Do you have anything scheduled today?”

Mycroft stopped typing for a brief second and glanced at Greg from over his reading glasses, admiring the fact that Greg was dressed in nothing more than a dressing gown. “I have the day off,” he said. “I remember that you were interested in getting a few bits and pieces of the flat, I could accompany you to the shops.”

“You want to go shopping?” Greg asked with a raised eyebrow. “What on earth are you wanting this time? Are you wanting to make you French toast again?”

“You know me too well,” Mycroft said with a soft smile. “No one makes it better than you.”

Greg’s chest was puffed out with pride as he went to the cupboard for the frying pan. “I am convinced that the only reason you keep me around is that I feed you.”

“You are also a fantastic shag,” Mycroft stated matter of fact, not looking up from the files that he was working on. He smirked to himself slightly as Greg choked on his tea. 

“I hardly understand why you are so surprised,” he said. “I did make it evident last night.”

Greg shook his head and chuckled to himself as he made his way to the fridge that was covered in ridiculous magnets. “You always surprise me,” he said. “I’m not sure what I am more surprised about, you saying that or wanting to go shopping. You are just going to hide in Waterstones until I’m finished aren’t you?”

“You know me too well,” Mycroft grinned. 

He watched Greg slip on his apron and start waltzing around the kitchen in a well-known routine. He hardly used recipes when he cooked and he knew the kitchen like it was the back of his hand. Greg was the happiest in the kitchen and it had become one of Mycroft’s favourite places in his home when Greg was it. 

He thought about cooking for Greg sometimes and quickly removed the idea from his head. He had never been capable in the kitchen and never moved past the limited amount of dishes that he cooked for himself in university and the early days of his career. It would be embarrassing to hand Greg a plate of beans on toast or a Pot Noodle. 

He tried to show Greg his appreciation in the little things, it was the least that he could do. He even strongly considered getting a dog as Greg had mentioned a desire to get one. He had been opposed to the idea at first but he had grown fond of the idea, quickly falling for the domesticity that surrounded it. 

As Greg placed the plate of French toast in front of him, Mycroft realised that it would only be a matter of time before he would have to ask that particular question. 

He felt terrified at the prospect of asking that loaded question to Greg one day. He had little idea about how he would even ask or when was the best time. He just knew that he wanted to do it soon. 

  
He had the feeling that there was a good chance that Greg would say ‘yes,’ to his proposition. 

“What are you thinking about?” Greg said as he sat down at the table with his plate of French toast. “You are in deep thought.”

  
Mycroft blinked and straightened up in his chair. “I was just wondering if we should go to the dog shelter today.”

The smile on Greg’s face was contagious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Mycroft making breakfast for Greg and any suggestions for breakfast?
> 
> Thank you so much for the support for this story, I have loved writing this story so much! I am thinking about writing another Mystrade series that revolves around food, I'm thinking about doing one around puddings or dinners.


	6. Full English

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They had a rather happy and domestic life much to Greg’s surprise. They had even reached the stage where they had a dog and enjoyed walks in the countryside together. They had even talked about the future together and what they would do when they eventually retired. The only thing that Greg knew for certain was that he wanted to spend it with Mycroft. If someone told him years ago that Mycroft Holmes would be in a kitchen wearing an apron and attempting to make him breakfast, Greg would not have believed it."
> 
> Or, Mycroft's attempt at making breakfast...

+1 Full English

Mycroft could not find the perfect moment to ask Greg that question. He carried the ring box all the time in the inner pocket of his suit jacket or in his briefcase, only putting it in the back of his sock index at the end of the day. He wanted to be prepared and would be able to propose once he had discovered the perfect moment to do so.

He had planned to ask over romantic dinners in high-end establishments but they had never gone to plan. Greg had been called out to work in between before the main course had arrived often. He had planned to propose in a quiet pub in Sussex after a lovely walk in the countryside with their new rescue dog, Rupert, but they ended up getting caught in a large shower of torrential rain and hailstones before they could reach the pub.

Mycroft tried to think of other suitable times and locations when he could propose with limited success. He just knew that it had to be perfect for Greg, he deserved nothing less for willingly putting up with his world of chaos and his quirks and he was a saint for all he had done for Sherlock over the years, among many other qualities that made him an absolutely perfect human being.

It would be simply foolish not to marry him. He was an amazing cook and he baked his own bread; it would be the most stupid decision to not marry Gregory Lestrade. 

It was that morning that Mycroft decided that he would make Greg breakfast in bed. Greg had often made him breakfast and did spoil him in the morning, even on his days off, by bringing him a mug of tea on the bedside table for when he woke up, occasionally with a homemade scone and jam on the side.

It only seemed perfectly fair to return the favour. Greg had done it for him so many times without a word or had to be asked, only doing it so out of love. It made Mycroft somewhat envious at times that Greg was able to allow himself to be loved and was able to show and express love with great ease. He had so much love to give that he was almost radiant. He had a never-ending supply of it within him. He was not just a great man, he was also a good one.

He managed to slip out of the bed undetected, Greg was still snoring away with Rupert in the bed. Mycroft could not help smiling to himself, it was had become a favourite sight of his recently. He had insisted to Greg that Rupert was going to be a dog that would not be allowed on the furniture on in the bed when they had adopted him. It had lasted all of five minutes before Rupert had made himself comfortable on the plush sofa right when they had brought him for the first time.

Mycroft often wondered if he had grown soft over the years. He reluctantly had to admit that he had turned as soft and melty almost like the inside of a marshmallow that had been burnt by a campfire. Almost gooey, he would never tell anyone that information, it would surely ruin him! He had a reputation to maintain, thank you very much!

Mycroft stared at the contents of the fridge for several moments before he closed it again, opening it again only moments later as if that alone would be able to help him find inspiration. He did a similar action with all of the cupboards before he let out a heavy sigh when he realised that he did not know what would be suitable for breakfast or what he could actually make.

He never used to bother with breakfast until Greg arrived in his life and started to make his breakfast for him. He had what Greg referred to as ‘liquid breakfast,’ until around one o’clock when he had his lunch, only having tea and the occasional coffee until he had a moment to actually eat.

With an annoyed grumble, Mycroft pulled out the packet of emergency ginger nuts that were only brought up when he was stuck on a tricky problem at work.

He wanted to make Greg a wonderful breakfast and it would be almost criminal to make him a subpar breakfast. He briefly considered ordering breakfast to the house and could decant it onto his own plates in the attempt to pretend that had cooked.

Mycroft shook his head to himself; he would hate to start the morning with a fib. It was with the loud sigh that Mycroft reached into the fridge and pulled out a box of eggs and a packet of bacon. He tried to ignore the feeling that he was somewhat like his brother with this experiment in the kitchen.

Greg woke up to the smell of burning in the kitchen and the empty space in the bed. He could hear Mycroft mutter to himself in the kitchen, occasionally cursing.

He briefly entertained the idea that Mycroft had been cooking in the kitchen, but he quickly ignored the idea, it was more likely that the flat had been ambushed with armature arsonists than Mycroft making breakfast.

With great reluctance, Greg put on his dressing gown and left the bedroom. 

“Some guard dog that you are,” he grumbled to the dog that was in the bed, snoozing away, only moving to stretch out in the middle of the bed in a makeshift nest of the duvet.

He was surprised to see that Mycroft’s dressing gown was covered in flour and he was scrubbing at a burnt pan, muttering to himself. His cheeks were pink and he looked rather frazzled. On the counter was the attempt of a full English, the bacon looked rather underdone, the toast was somewhat burnt and could not be salvaged. The fried eggs looked rather rubbery; the beans were congealed in one solid mass on the plate. Greg was not sure what happened to the mushrooms or the tomatoes, he was rather afraid to ask about them.

“Are you doing okay, Myc?” Greg cautiously asked, keeping somewhat a distance from Mycroft by the kitchen.

Mycroft looked up from the sink and shot him a somewhat sheepish look. “I am not ‘okay,’” Mycroft grumbled, throwing the sponge into the sink with a sigh.

“Did you try to make me breakfast?” Greg asked, incredibly moved by the gesture even if the food was somewhat unreadable. “What was the occasion?”

He started to pick at the plate when Mycroft did not answer and just looked mortified at the mess that he had made. “Greg, you don’t need to eat this,” he mumbled in response as Greg started to cover the plate in tomato sauce in the attempt to make the food somewhat edible.

“This is the sweetest thing that you’ve ever done for me,” Greg beamed, wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “What have I done to deserve this?”

“You don’t deserve this!” Mycroft protested. “I should have just ordered in breakfast and put it on my own plates instead of letting you see this mess. I am not exactly marriage material if I cannot even make toast without it burning to a crisp.”

Greg pulled back from the embrace, surprised from the words that had left Mycroft’s mouth. “Marriage material?” he asked, not quite believing his own ears.

It was the thing that he had least expected to hear from Mycroft’s mouth. He had entertained the idea of getting married to Mycroft often enough but did not think that Mycroft would not want to do so. He had been rather nervous to bring up the topic of marriage himself, almost afraid what Mycroft would say.

They had a rather happy and domestic life much to Greg’s surprise. They had even reached the stage where they had a dog and enjoyed walks in the countryside together. They had even talked about the future together and what they would do when they eventually retired. The only thing that Greg knew for certain was that he wanted to spend it with Mycroft. If someone told him years ago that Mycroft Holmes would be in a kitchen wearing an apron and attempting to make him breakfast, Greg would not have believed it.

“I can hardly be considered to be a suitable husband if I could not even make you breakfast,” Mycroft grumbled, unaware of what he had said.

“Are you wanting to get married?” Greg asked, shuffling somewhat awkwardly on the kitchen tiles.

“To you, I would very much like to,” Mycroft said without a moment of hesitation. “I have been wanting to propose, I have not found the right moment to ask.”

Greg swallowed hard; he could practically count the seconds as they passed him. He discreetly pinched himself in the hopes that he was not dreaming, it had been a rather strange morning, it had to be perfectly honest. “Why don’t you ask me now?” He asked, suddenly finding the strength to talk.

“Greg,” Mycroft said with a somewhat frustrated sigh. “This isn’t a perfect moment. I was wanting to wait until the perfect moment.”

“Make it a perfect moment then,” Greg said with a shrug.

Mycroft let out a heavy sigh and wiped his hands with a tea towel. He looked somewhat sheepish and embarrassed. He cleared his throat several times and fiddled with the tie of his dressing-gown nervously. “Marry me,” he said.

“Is that an order?” Greg asked with a grin, teasing. “You are demanding that I marry you?”

“It is not like I am asking if you want to sign a petition, Gregory,” Mycroft comment, a shy smile was on his face. “Would you like to marry me? There is little reason to hesitate.”

Greg considered the matter carefully and looked at Mycroft’s disaster of a full English breakfast with great care. “I’ll marry you,” he said, the grin making his way across his features. “Only if you promise to never make breakfast ever again.”

Mycroft happily agreed to his proposition. The smile on his face was breath-taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the support for the story over these last few weeks! It has been such a fun story to write and I hope that you enjoyed these stories! I just want to thank Paia_Loves_Pie for such a wonderful prompt!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Mycroft had spent hours than he would care to admit thinking about what could potentially go wrong. He often did so in the early hours of the morning when he was unable to sleep and Greg and the dog were snoring away. He had thought about the possibility of a global collapse happened on that particular day when he was in the supermarket, trying to decide what was the perfect orange juice for Greg. He had entertained the thought of Greg simply not showing up and suddenly changing his mind when he was in an important meeting for work. He had spent more time than he would ever admit thinking about the possibility of the events of Jurrasic Park happening when he was stuck in traffic after he and Greg had watched the film the evening before. '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly unexpected chapter to be written for this fic! I had thought that I had ended it but I felt inspired by a comment Custardcrush and it inspired me to write another chapter. Hope that you don't mind!

The case of nerves that plagued Mycroft seemed to get increasingly worse as the months, weeks, and days passed. A part of him did not expect that he would make it to this particular day and he had developed an impending sense of doom about it as Greg marked off the days on the calendar in red pen. 

Mycroft had spent hours than he would care to admit thinking about what could potentially go wrong. He often did so in the early hours of the morning when he was unable to sleep and Greg and the dog were snoring away. He had thought about the possibility of a global collapse happened on that particular day when he was in the supermarket, trying to decide what was the perfect orange juice for Greg. He had entertained the thought of Greg simply not showing up and suddenly changing his mind when he was in an important meeting for work. He had spent more time than he would ever admit thinking about the possibility of the events of Jurrasic Park happening when he was stuck in traffic after he and Greg had watched the film the evening before. 

Greg had reassured him that there would be a lack of dinosaurs or alien invasions on the day. He had reassured him countless times that he had not changed his mind and that he would be there, and that it would be awfully rude to miss his own wedding. He did not seem to even mind when during the first week after they had gotten engaged when Mycroft kept wanting to double-check that Greg did want to marry him and that he had not changed his mind. 

Mycroft woke up alone in an empty bed. His heart dropped down, tugging painfully when he had reached over a hand across the bed, only to find nothing there.

He swallowed hard and ran his hand through his hair as he tried to push back the sense of impending doom. He had feared that it would happen, almost expected it to happen. It had been a niggle in the back of his brain that had formed when he and Greg had started to get involved with another, that Greg would get fed up of him and just leave without a word. 

Not wanting to be in the crime scene for much longer than he had to be, Mycroft wrapped his dressing gown around himself and picked up his phone. He wondered who he was meant to call first in this situation, he had never had to cancel a wedding before. He debated if he was meant to call his brother or Anthea, she had taken her duties as Maid of Honour very seriously and had done the majority of the wedding preparations, she would be devastated by the news. 

Mycroft sighed and placed his head in his hands when he realised that he would have to tell his mother, she would be hysterical. The bedroom door opened up with a click and relief flooded through Mycroft instantly when he saw Greg with the breakfast tray in his hands and a confused expression on his face. 

“What’s happened?” he asked. “Has that idiot been phoning you? I made it clear that he wasn’t going to bother you for the next week, especially not today.”

Mycroft managed to chuckle and discreetly wiped his eyes. “You did make it very clear to the prime minister on the phone,” he said. “I just wish that you did not do it when we were in bed together. I can hardly look him in the eye these days.”

“It’s his fault that he phoned at that time, ” Greg grumbled. “He should know that you have a life. It’s not like you just sit there twiddling your thumbs waiting for him to phone on a Saturday night.”

Mycroft allowed himself to slip under the duvet, happily accepting the mug of tea that Greg passed over to him. A plate of buttered toast was handed to him, the dog looked somewhat hopeful and gave him those eyes that Mycroft could not say no to. 

“I thought that you would be nervous and wouldn’t be able to get much down,” Greg said as an explanation. “You’ve hardly been able to eat because of those nerves.”

Mycroft removed the crusts carefully from the slice of toast and passed them to the dog. “I thought that you left this morning,” he reluctantly confessed. “I know that you would not do so.”

Greg pressed a kiss to the crown of his head and rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. “It would be very rude of me to miss my wedding,” he said. “You know that I won’t leave. I would be there all the time even if the dinosaurs come and cause havoc at our wedding.”

Mycroft groaned and swatted Greg’s arm. 

“I just never expected that I would get married,” Mycroft said. “I never expected that you would even be interested in me in the first place.”

“How would I not be interested in you?” Greg asked. “I risked getting exiled from the country or at least a prison sentence for what I said to the prime minister on the phone when I was fuc-”

“If that isn’t a sign then what is?” Mycroft chuckled. 

“The scary part of the wedding is going to be over and done with so quickly,” Greg said reassuringly. “You just need to say ‘I do,’ and that’s it. I’m wanting to marry you and you still seemed to be interested in marrying me.”

“Of course I am still interested!” Mycroft exclaimed. “You do cook and bake for me, and you are just utterly perfect.”

“It would be cruel to allow the dog to live in sin,” Greg commented. “The two of us having a dog out of wedlock, how scandalous!” 

“I do wish that my mother would have just allowed us to get a registry wedding,” Mycroft said, relaxing into Greg’s hand running through his hair. “I could have happily gotten the paperwork and we could have signed it without a ceremony. I just want to get married to you as soon as possible.”

Greg did not say anything for a moment, he chewed on his piece of toast thoughtfully. “Why don’t we just get the paperwork signed?” he suggested. “The wedding isn’t on until around lunchtime, we have time.” 

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting that we get married before the wedding?”

“Why not?” Greg asked with a grin. “It’s going to help with your nerves if we are already married. I think that you can pull a few strings to get it sorted.” 

  
“My mother is going to be horrified that we’ve done this,” Mycroft said. 

“It can just be a little secret,” Greg grinned. “You aren’t saying no to it.”

Mycroft pretended to think of a moment and grinned. “It is the most brilliant idea,” he said.

He kissed him soon to be husband before he pulled out his phone to contact Anthea about getting the paperwork organised. 

  
“Finish off your toast and get ready,” he said with a smile as he put down the phone. “ Anthea is bringing the paperwork around now. We are going to get married in twenty minutes.”


	8. Croissants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to write a bonus chapter for this fic, I loved writing it so much and I wanted to write another chapter. Hope that you don't mind!

_ Croissants  _

He had no idea why he had decided to make his husband breakfast that morning. He rarely cooked and hardly knew how most of Greg's kitchen gadgets worked. He only knew the name and a function of a handful of them after being taken around kitchenware shops with Greg and happily listening to him talk about the merits of a certain mixer or why they should have a proving added into their kitchen.

It had been a year since they had gotten eloped and their wedding day. He still never had gotten over the novelty of seeing his and Greg's names written together on paperwork or using the phrase: 'my husband,' when he was in the office. He adored when he heard Greg use those words to describe him more than he probably should. He did often wonder if it was middle age or was it love that had turned him ridiculously soft these days.

He had promised Greg that he wouldn't attempt to make him breakfast again after his disastrous attempt at full English. The only thing that he cooked, if he could even consider it to be cooking, was when he made tea, coffee, and toast. He could do crumpets as well and boil and egg, thank you very much, but it was the extent of his cooking abilities

Greg never minded about his limited cooking abilities and never complained about doing all the cooking. Mycroft took him out to dinner and he did the washing up once the plates had been cleared. Their arrangement suited Mycroft just well and it meant that he never went hungry and Greg only had to experience the more enjoyable parts of cooking.

Mycroft frowned at the recipe on his phone, not understanding how croissants could be so difficult to make. Greg had made them with ease and they had them for breakfast every morning when they came back from their honeymoon in France. The recipe claimed that it was one for beginners and they were foolproof croissants and would be ready to make in ten easy steps and that anyone could make delicious croissants in less than two hours.

He looked up from his phone and at the mess on the kitchen counters, trying to figure out what went wrong. He had done rather well in the beginning, he had measured out the ingredients perfectly and things had somehow gone pear-shaped not long after, his second attempt had not been much better than the first.

Mycroft tried his best to clean up the mess on the kitchen counters and off the floor. Greg’s best apron was covered in flour and so was the clothing that he had worn underneath- his best silk pajamas would probably not be able to be salvaged from what he had put them through, a worthy sacrifice if it had put a smile on Greg’s face. 

Once the kitchen was cleaned up and he had put on a new apron, Mycroft considered starting again. He tried to find another 'simple,’ recipe online and realised that it was far much more complicated than the first one and they were running out of flour. 

He knew that Greg wouldn’t be too thrilled if he woke up on their wedding anniversary to find the kitchen in a mess again. It was not the surprise that Mycroft had hoped to give him. 

There was only one thing to do: go to a bakery and buy the croissants, placing them on their own plates under the guise that he had made them himself. It would save the kitchen from becoming a total mess once again.

He tried to ignore the wave of disappointment that ran through him, suddenly feeling rather inadequate as a husband. He knew that he was extraordinarily fortunate to be married to a man who was as wonderful as Greg, a loving and patient man who did not mind that he was married to someone who was rather lacking in many qualities. 

He did often wonder what Greg saw in him but tried not to question it too much, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. He tried his best to show Greg how much he appreciated him even if it meant breaking his promise of never cooking breakfast again to show how much he loved him. 

He ordered the croissants from Greg’s favorite bakery along with several other treats. Anthea handed them to him through the kitchen window, so Greg did not wake up from the noise of the door opening and closing. 

“I do hope that you do not find me strange for this,” Mycroft said with a sigh, leaning over the kitchen sink to get to the window. “This is something that we will never talk about again.”

Anthea passed the bag carefully to him, stretching carefully in her high heels and an amused expression on her face. “This is not the first time that I’ve had to give you food from a window, you have requested stranger things from me.”

“Take the day off,” Mycroft huffed, stopping her from recounting the story about the strangest thing that he had requested of her to do for him. He knew that having her deliver croissants to him through the kitchen window so that he did not wake his sleeping husband was rather tame in comparison to the things that he had her do for him. 

“I made sure to ask for the worst-looking croissants,” she said, fighting against the smile that was threatening to show. 

  
“Why was that?” Mycroft asked. 

“Greg is more likely to believe that you made them if they look terrible and are a bit broken.”

Mycroft suddenly realised that she wasn’t getting enough money for the work that she did for him and that he would have to organise a raise for her as soon as possible. He wondered how he managed to function with Anthea before. 

Mycroft carefully placed the broken croissants on their best plates, placed on a tray with a selection of jams on the breakfast tray and large mugs of coffee. He placed the bags for the croissants in the bin, trying his best to hide them from Greg to stop him from noticing. He doubted that Greg would take much interest in the contents of the bin. 

He carefully walked to the bedroom, placing the tray on the side and waking Greg up with a kiss, immediately handing him a mug of coffee to wake him up and make him suitable for conversation. 

“Happy anniversary,” Greg said sleepily, a grin on his face once the first cup of coffee was drunk. “Was wondering where you ended up. I didn’t expect to wake up alone on our anniversary.”

“I was busy in the kitchen,” Mycroft said, a half-truth. “I thought that I would make you breakfast to celebrate.”

“I thought that you agreed to never make breakfast again especially with the mess that you made with a full English,” Greg said with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t mind though, love. You made croissants?” 

“I did, “Mycroft hummed, popping a bit of croissant into his mouth. “I found a recipe online.”

“Did you now? I never knew that you could bake considering how you have the cooking ability of a student when left on your own devices,” Greg asked with a raised eyebrow. “I did have a funny dream this morning.”

“Oh?” Mycroft asked. “What was it about?”

“Nothing much,” Greg said through a mouthful of croissant. “I just had Anthea knocking on the bedroom window with a paper bag in her hand. I had to tell her that the kitchen was on the other side of the house.”

Mycroft’s ears went pink.

His husband’s laughter ran through him and he pressed a kiss on Mycroft’s cheek. “I love you, you ridiculous man,” he said with a smile. “Happy anniversary, Myc.”

“Happy anniversary and may we have any more,” Mycroft grinned. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any suggestions for what Greg makes Mycroft for breakfast?


End file.
